An exercise in mindfulness

Monthly Archives: November 2016

The Sunday after Thanksgiving, I opened my shade to a vibrant, sun-lit sky. The bedroom window faces a row of tall, spindly pine trees and my neighbor’s leaf-filled yard. From my perch at the edge of my bed, I followed a lone russet leaf as it floated, feather-like-in its drift downward, to join the growing leaf pile tucked into the stone wall corner at the back of the driveway.

American Beech tree crowns hang over the back of the driveway. Their leaves drop late, often long into the winter when rattling winds cannot cleave them from their branch until the leaf is ready. Southern in origin, they hold fast to their nature.

This past week, the wet, dreary, foggy weather fit my mood. Readers are aware that I voted for Hillary and struggle with President Elect Trump who is very far from my own nature. Like the leaf, I am drifting, ever so slowly in an effort to find the right place to land. Up to November 9th, I was content in the Liberal pile and at times, leaning towards the Progressive. Now, I am clearly left of center, opposed to and resisting the choices, values and beliefs of the upcoming Trump administration. On alert, I float, open to activism in the service of a viable democracy.

I sign petitions, send money to causes I believe in, causes at risk. I plan to send a“ Not Bannon” postcard addressed to Donald Trump, c/o The Trump Organization, 725 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York, 10022 tomorrow. Opposing the Bannon influence of linguistic manipulation and white male supremacy with neo-Nazi leanings is a top priority.

As soon as I read of Jill Stein’s Crowd Source Recount Fund, I signed on. I felt a surge of hope when I received a Washington Post notice that Hillary’s campaign will participate in the Wisconsin recount with an eye on outside interference. I have never believed in conspiracy theories but in this post election environment, I believe that conspiracies are possible. We need to work for and insist upon transparency especially in the electoral results.

A friend recently wrote of her efforts to make phone calls to Senators and Representatives. Apparently, e-mails are less effective than phone calls. I need to focus and select who and when to call. If you have experience with this tactic, please leave a comment with details about the issue and who you are passionate about contacting.

Readers, I would like to hear about your efforts to make a difference in this post election environment. We need to share information and show strength of purpose and flexibility in our ability to discern what is the right course for each of us to take.

I am grateful for this blog and the opportunity to reflect, share, speak out and learn from others. I welcome your experience and comments. Please share.

There are times, like this past week, when the subject of gratitude comes hard, sticks in my throat. Hillary, her face gray and drawn, her hair lacking its coiffured fluff and luster, spoke out. “It’s up to each and every one of us to keep working to make America better and stronger and fairer,” she implored. Obama, overseas, in Germany, gathered crowds, put his best face forward, gave the message that our democracy will carry on and survive.

Yet, as I listen to Hillary and Obama, I mourn, feel regret. I am fearful and believe it is essential to adhere to values and action to assure civility and safety for all. But in the meanwhile, I must answer my own questions.

Who is Trump? How will he lead? Does he have perspective beyond the immediacy of his own lens or is he easily led, swayed by men such as Steve Bannon with his uncanny ability to pinpoint language, switch Trump’s moderate considerations into rhetoric of power with impunity.

Eleven days out, how do I live? How do I make sense of the onslaught of bad news— men who have spoken out against diversity, my core beliefs— being chosen to lead? What day-to-day action do I take? How will I use my time and resources to manage what is now becoming a stream of alien options difficult to digest?

My gratitude blog is my window to the world, a once a week deadline where I show up, rain or shine, to explore what has become the challenge to find and experience gratitude. I began this blog a year ago. Post election, I considered shifting to an every other week schedule. Now, I feel the imperative to continue, to write, to stay the course.

Yesterday, as my neighborhood mechanic was sealing a slow leak in my tire, I took a walk. The sky was energetic with dark clouds swirling, the air brisk with erratic winds as I combed a familiar street on foot to explore a major bridge, shut down, in repair, straight ahead. For weeks, this route has been re-routed, adding up to over a 20-minute encircling to what had been a 10-minute trip. On the ground, close to the site, I understood— they were rebuilding the bridge from the bottom up; rebuilding takes devoted attention and time.

In the afternoon, grateful and refreshed at the image of the bridge, I continued to meander and found another— smaller, simpler in its wooden structure, across from the Wellesley public library. I was in soul-tracking mode, the low sun highlighting tree after tree, some a century and a half old, their limbs stretched, each one perfect in its way. Beyond the trees, I found the bridge, weathered, a flexible, wooden arch, sheltering a spring, grey and gritty from lack of rain, but still running.

With gratitude, I felt the sun on my back as I clicked away on trees. Sometimes, what we need is pause, the time to dig deep, to grasp what is essential before we can find the image, the words to move back into the stream.

Is it possible to mourn the outcome of this election and feel gratitude?

“It’s like losing a loved one,” a friend remarked as we spoke of our upset that a man who denigrated and objectified women, directed hate talk to minorities, mocked the disabled, lead the charge to jail Hillary, is now the president elect.

In the aftermath, we experience sadness. Are not the tears in this sadness embedded in gratitude? Had I not admired, respected, and trusted Hillary, would I feel this bereft? Had I not felt enormous gratitude for what she gave and endured in those long, difficult days of confronting the challenges of being the first female presidential candidate in history, would I feel so beleaguered?

I am grateful: Hillary ran for president, not once, but twice.

The first time, in 2008, I stood in a long line with my friend, Rosemary, to attend Hillary’s primary rally at Boston’s Symphony Hall. When she took the stage in her soft yellow pantsuit, I stood and cheered, my heart pounding with anticipation and pride in a woman candidate. I was 76 years old.

I recalled how, growing into womanhood, I admired two outspoken women: Eleanor Roosevelt and Margaret Chase Smith. Eleanor was her husband’s eyes and ears, his advisor. Smith was among the first to criticize the tactics of McCarthyism the year I graduated high school. McCarthy frightened me; Smith called him out, stood her ground and spoke out against despotism. In 1964, Smith ran as a candidate for the Republican nomination but lost.

That rally night at Symphony Hall, the golden-walled space rang with excited applause and sisterhood. Hillary was passionate; we were passionate with her. Like Smith, she lost that first effort and to my surprise, she picked herself up and accepted the job of Secretary of State. The job was brutal, requiring resiliency, flexibility, grit and yes, stamina.

My gratitude grew as I read of her missions and watched her interviews on television. I appreciated both her grace and grit as she traveled the world, tried to negotiate fairness and safety.

Election, 2016, her run for president seemed inevitable. Who could challenge her competence and knowledge, her dedication to civility and service? Of course, dedicated Bernie. I was grateful for two champions. I was grateful for the choice.

Hillary won the nomination, paved the path, forged the way forward as far and wide as she could. I am grateful, yet mourn for what was lost— the promise of a steady, firm reasonable leader with heart for families and children of all races and creeds.

How to honor the sadness and move forward? I am vigilant. I tune to trusted journalists, writers and commentators. I read to stay current, to assess whose point of view resonates, makes sense. Today, November 12th, Timothy Eagen, in his New York Times Opinion essay, ResistMuch, wrote, “Grief is an emotion that has little power in politics.”

Five days before the presidential election of 2016, I am anxious, eager for closure, a resolution to the intense, verbal barrage of words—all framed to influence my vote.

I am a Hillary supporter—have been, hope to continue, long after November 8th. I am grateful for her spunk, her dogged effort to pursue her aspiration, her fortitude and persistence. If she wins, I will be ever-so-much-more grateful for all her effort and the efforts of all who have worked to support her. And, if she does not, I hope to continue to seek, focus on and attain a sense of gratitude.

I have found that gratitude can be accessed and noted every day. Gratitude is present if one pays attention. In this media based society, so focused on the input of news and opinion making, it is challenging but necessary to step back, shut out the media/Facebook/tweeting and shift into the quest for quiet and paced reflection.

There are so many levels of gratitude, the choice evoked by attentiveness to an immediate resonance— a heartfelt memory, a meaningful encounter, the promise of satisfying effort. I learned to slow down while collecting limpet shells on the Maine shoreline. Nowadays, I slow down to collect moments of gratitude in my garden, in my everyday encounters, in my reflections as I shower.

At a recent women’s group meeting, I heard anxiety in the discussion of my close peers. How alike we are in our anxiety over the fate of our nation and especially with regard to our children and grandchildren’s future. Yet, in spite of the worrisome undercurrents in our circle, because we zeroed in and narrowed our range of concern and interest, each of us was able to focus on aspects of gratitude in our lives.

I spoke of my gratitude for my writing practice, the opportunity to pursue multiple options, the struggle to attend to one or two pieces and bring them to completion. In a month, I will have published 52 gratitude posts on my blog.

But what of November 9th? If my candidate loses, will I be able to focus and seek the kinetic attachment, pen to paper, articulate the gratitude experience at a gut/visceral experience, find the words to seek the balance basic to my mantra: Gratitude is as Gratitude Does?

The answer is as always—onward. On the drive home from the meeting in Lowell, there were four of us. Claudine, an artist, commented on how, in her urban environment, she had thought the fall colors had waned but that on the highway, she noticed an abundance of orange/yellow trees in full array. I was grateful for her observing eye: the many shapes and designs, the glorious display, which heightened my sense of being.

I offer this as metaphor— for all of us in the aftermath of November 8th, to notice the ever-changing landscape, to seek what attracts and resonates, to articulate what makes you grateful, to express thankfulness in word or deed.